


A Bear at the Heart of the Dragon

by SuperGamer1337



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-11-21 12:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperGamer1337/pseuds/SuperGamer1337
Summary: Jorah has cured himself of his greyscale, now he's working to get back to his Khaleesi. But will everything be fine once he gets back like he thought?(Sorry, suck at summaries... Also, it's my first fanfic!)





	1. The Grey Road to Pentos

 

He did it, he had cured his Greyscale, just like his Khaleesi had ordered him to do! He had managed to find a medical prodigy in Braavos, the free city. She was not old, just 15 years or so, which means she was a very young woman, who still had much more to accomplish in her life. That does not mean curing Greyscale was a small feat, it was, in fact, one of the biggest medical wonders in many years since many had started to believe that Greyscale was “Incurable.”

Jorah thanked the woman immensely (he paid her as well, he’s not a savage after all), and walked out of the small house where she treated the ill and injured.

The sun had started to rise.

He set out to find his horse at the stables and would hopefully be able to get an early start back to Meereen. He walked towards the stables that were located towards the east gate of the town, and after that, he would see if he could find someone who would be able to transport him to Meereen by sea since it would be almost twice as fast. Maybe he even could stop by King’s Landing to, putting it mildly, cut the balls of the person who sent his pardon. But that would be suicide, which would sadly interfere with his queen’s orders. Otherwise, he would be glad to do it.

Once he had arrived by the stables, he saw a hooded, and very mysterious man, standing in front of the stable where he had kept his horse, calmly looking out over the busy streets. He had a sheathed steel sword hanging on the side of his waist, and light leather all over his body.

The man looked up from the streets, and then looked right at Ser Jorah, and then calmly walked towards him. When he stopped about a meter away from Jorah, he said, “You’re Ser Jorah, are you not?” Jorah looked at him perplexed for a second, then answered, “Yes I am, good man, but who might you be?” The man looked at the busy street for a moment, and then answered hastily, “My name is not important; we need to talk, however, but not here, it’s too crowded, and someone might overhear.” Jorah looked at the man critically for a moment, and agreed, although hesitantly.

“My friends and I own an establishment not very far from here where we could talk,” The man said with a whisper, and started walking away, through an alleyway to the left. Jorah looked around for a moment and then started following him, although carefully with slow and easy steps, ready for an ambush if it were to come to that.

The alleyway was not as crowded as the rest of the city, in fact, it was almost empty, except for a few baskets stapled by the wall. They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Jorah asked curiously, “Who are you and your friends anyway?” The man’s answer was the same as last time he asked a question about him, “That’s not important,” The man answered with a slightly aggravated tone. Jorah just rolled his eyes and continued to follow the strange man.

When they arrived at the end of the alleyway, Jorah saw that they were in the middle of a square, between a few houses. “These houses are owned by me! And my friends, of course,” The man said with pride. Jorah looked at the different houses; they weren’t all that much. They were simple wooden houses; they were slightly broken-down too. The walls, and presumably the roof as well as the floor, had even started to rot; Jorah, was not impressed.

So, he told the man, as politely as he could, “These houses kind of look like… hmm… Okay, there is no polite way to say this; they look like they belong to the poorest house owners in the world…” The man was not amused. “It’s not the outside that matters, it’s the inside,” The man said, trying to make the houses seem like they would be worthwhile, “or at least what’s in them.” The man turned around and faced Jorah; lowered his hood and showed the sick smile beneath, as well as his completely bald head. Then he yelled, “Men! You can come out now!” Five men stormed out of the buildings around the square; spears and swords in hand. “So, how does it feel to soon be dead?” Jorah smiled at the man and said with a slight hint of amusement, “Feels like it did about - 3 days ago.”

The man lost his smile and gritted his teeth, “Men… Kill him!”

One of the bandits who had a spear stepped forward, ready to charge at Jorah. In turn, Jorah took a defensive position; the bandit charged. Jorah quickly stepped to the side and did a vertical strike to cut the spear in half. The bandit stared at Jorah, disoriented and afraid; Jorah cut off his head, and his last thoughts were probably somewhere along the lines of, “Fuck my life.” (Which he then lost so that he won’t have that problem again!)

The second bandit with a spear in hand looked at his fallen comrade, then dropped the spear and ran away in fear. “Always was a coward that one; sometimes I wonder why I recruited him to begin with...” Said one of the bandits, slightly shaking his head, the other silently agreed; completely forgetting his enemy. Jorah, as any seasoned warrior would do, took the advantage and killed the closest one while he had the chance. That meant that he had killed half of the bandits thanks to their asininity.

The last three bandits looked at Jorah with infuriated faces and started to circle him, a very smart tactic – for them at least - not that it would help all that much, being that Jorah is, after all, a fully trained Knight.

One of the bandits started charging towards Jorah; he dodged it very gracefully – not though, the charge managed to put him off balance. The presumed bandit leader – because he seemed to be the only one with brains – saw what happened, and tried to slash Jorah’s arm; the strike managed to graze his skin lightly, and a drop of blood fell to the ground. He clutched his arm lightly; it wasn’t deep – still hurt like hell though, mind you – and he continued fighting.

The fact, however, that their leader had managed actually to hurt Jorah, inspired them, and they started to become much more confident. So, one of the bandits – in his newfound arrogance – thought he could take Jorah on easily in a one-man fight; he walked in front of Jorah, and tried to strike him with a vertical swing; Jorah moved to the side, easily evading the blade, and cut off the arm that had swung the sword – the blood flowing like a river – and then kicked him to the ground. The bandit screamed in absolute pain – until he died of blood loss.

The last two bandits, managed to use their brains (I know, use their brains? Completely unbelievable…)  to realize that, if they attacked together, they would be much more likely to take him out.

So, they circled Jorah until they were on the complete opposite sides of him; the leader made a vertical strike, while the other bandit made a horizontal one; making it look like Jorah had no way out of death. Jorah, however, managed to roll away from both of the blades, and proceed to cut off the leg of one of the bandits. (he’s surprisingly agile for his age…)

The bandit fell to the ground; Jorah walked over and pierced his heart.

This left the bandit leader, now alone with Jorah, looked at him with a mix of dread and fury. He knew he most likely was going to die – but he would sure as hell not give up to an old man!

The bald bandit leader started to become filled with absolute rage, rushed at Jorah, swinging his blade blindly.  Jorah easily dodged it, and the bandit leader still rushed forward, still blinded by his rage. He continued running till he hit the wall beside the entrance of the square, and immediately got knocked out by the impact.

Jorah walked over to the knocked-out bandit leader, crouched by his side, and then slowly cut his throat. Then proceeded to search the body to see if he could find a clue about who would like to have him killed – since the bandit couldn’t have known he was here otherwise, or would’ve recognized him.

It took a while – it wasn’t on the leader’s body, interestingly enough – but on one of his henchmen, the spearman Jorah had killed in the first place. It was a note, containing orders to have him killed, a description of his appearance, and what he had been trying to do, and it was signed by… No-One.

He just crouched over the body for a few seconds, silently contemplating whom No-One was.

He rose, setting out of the square, and into the cramped, and very empty, alleyway. Nothing had changed since the last time he walked through, except one thing, an arrow stuck to the wall. There was also a purse with some gold attached to it as well, making Jorah very inquisitive about its meaning.

Jorah took the purse – because it could be a clue hidden in it, **not** for the money… Then opened it where he found a note that read, “This is a partial prepayment for a job well done.”

Jorah thought about the note as he started moving again, clearly, this No-One had underestimated him if he thought a group of bandits would be able to take him out, meaning that he probably didn’t know Jorah very well…

Jorah continued this line of thought and walked out on the streets. Where he then walked to the stables (again) determined to set out on the path to his Queen. He found his russet brown horse, paid the stable manager, and proceeded to ride out of Braavos.

He had decided not to take a boat because it would be excessively easy to make him “have an accident”; thus, he set out toward the south-eastern mountains.

 

* * *

Somewhere along the Braavosi Coastlands

* * *

 

Jorah set up camp in a secluded area between some big rocks so that he would be slightly concealed at least. While the sun started to set to the west, the last rays of its light touching the eastern mountain tops. He lashed his horse to a pole, right next to a big patch of grass, and gave him an apple.

Then found some stones and sticks to start a small fire so he could see what he was doing; then put up the small leather tent he had with him.

He had just started taking out his fur sleeping mat and blanket, when he heard a sound behind him, something was moving in the newly cast darkness…

Jorah took out his blade, ready to strike whomever – or whatever – it was. It was, in fact, a man, but one who held his hands high above his head in a gesture of surrender, and screamed, “Don’t kill me, don’t kill me, please don’t kill me… I’m just a poor traveler; traveling from Braavos to Pentos…”

The man truly looked quite frightened Jorah thought; he didn’t seem to have any weapons either. “I just saw that you had a fire and a tent; I thought maybe I could take refuge here in your camp for the night,” The man said with a jittery voice, as he slowly walked towards Jorah and the burning campfire.

Jorah inspected him warily – the recent “adventure” in Braavos having him quite suspicious of strangers; the man had no weapons, he concluded. “All right then, come and sit by the fire if you want,” He said to the poor man, as he started putting his mat and blanket the way he wanted.

When he turned around and sat by the fire, he took note of the man’s appearance. He had short, black unkempt hair, and a small faded scar under his right eye. The man looked quite skinny as well, showing that he hasn’t had enough to eat for quite a long time.

“So, what makes you do this journey to Pentos?” Jorah asked the man curiously. “I’ve had it quite hard in Braavos for a long time, so, I decided to travel to Pentos – for a chance at a better life,” The man answered with clear hope in his eyes, removing any doubt Jorah had about the man’s intentions. Then the man asked in correspondence, “But what brings you to Pentos – after all, you don’t seem poor? You look quite knightly to me!” Jorah looked at the man for a moment, deciding if he would tell the truth or not – he would not. “I was thinking about travelling to Westeros, but the captains in Braavos take way too much of a pay for their services, hence why I think Pentos is my best chance.”

The man nodded in understanding and then said, “Yes, people have always complained about how steep the prices are in Braavos – it may be a free city, but certainly not for your wallet!” Then the man guffawed at his own joke – even though it wasn’t very good; Jorah forced a laugh in return.

When they were done laughing, Jorah realized that he hadn’t asked the man about his name, “What is your name, good man? I forgot to ask…” “It’s Nakeqor Irroris,” The man answered with a smile, “What’s yours?”

Jorah hesitated, then answered, “Jorah – Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island.”

“Ah, so you are a knight after all! You have that look about you,” The man said happily; Jorah’s face fell.

All this talk about him being a knight made him think about his past, the past where he was exiled from Westeros, the time when his Queen, whom he had served faithfully (kind of) for a long time, banished him from her domain – never to return. She had, however, reinstated him as her knight after he saved her life when the fighting pits in Meereen was attacked by the Sons of the Harpy.

“You look quite crestfallen, Jorah.” It was a statement – a statement that took Jorah out of his reverie. “Just thinking about the past,” Jorah said, forcing a smile towards Nakeqor.

“Must have been quite the troublesome past, by the look on your face,” Nakeqor said, not buying his smile; Jorah laughed, and said, “Guess you could say that, my friend.” Nakeqor looked at Jorah with a jubilant expression, “You’re probably the first person ever to call me friend, and we’ve barely met. Most people though, find me poor and quite odious.”

Jorah looked at the man with a sympathetic look, “Well, you don’t seem odious to me, Nakeqor – and if it’s any comfort, there is this one person whom I thought looked at me that way, but recently that seems to have changed, once she thought I managed to redeem myself.”

“Ah, a woman, eh, that’s always when it’s the most hurtful, isn’t it? What is her name?”

Jorah – who had started to trust this man – told him, “Daenerys.”

“Daenerys? Sounds Valyrian…” Nakeqor said curiously, “Where does she come from? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Westeros,” Jorah answered sternly.

“Westeros? Interesting… Which House would decide to name their daughter with a Valyrian name, I wonder?” Nakeqor asked, “Before I would say the Targaryens, but now… I don’t know?”

“She **is** a Targaryen – probably the last Targaryen,” Jorah said with a small, hesitant smile; he wasn’t sure he should tell Nakeqor all this – but fuck it – what could such a poor man do?

Nakeqor looked at Jorah with astonishment, “And here I was, thinking that the last Targaryens had been eradicated – clearly wrong I see,” Nakeqor smiled, “Where is she now if you don’t mind me asking?”

Jorah started to smile a bit with pride when Nakeqor asked, “She is the Queen of Meereen, and that’s where she’s located right now, I’m guessing.” “Really? How did she manage to become Queen of Meereen?” Nakeqor asked eagerly.

“Well, she birthed three dragons, and then got an army of 8000 Unsullied,” Jorah said, reliving these moments, “then she managed to get the Second Sons on her side as well – after that, it was all quite easy.”

“Wow, that sure is an adventure I must hear more about – but now I’m quite hungry… You wouldn’t have anything for me to eat, do you?” Nakeqor asked with a hint of embarrassment.

“We met barely an hour ago, and you’re already asking for food…” Jorah chuckled, “I may have a little bit of meat in my saddle pack, but you’ll have to cook it yourself!” “Thank you so, so much, I haven’t had anything to eat for a long time…” Nakeqor said happily.

They took a sharp stick each, and started cooking their meat over the fire; they joked and laughed for the rest of the evening, and then went to sleep around the fire – Jorah in his tent of course. 

 

* * *

8 hours later

* * *

 

Jorah woke up to the sound of someone coughing; he sat up, and let out a big yawn, and looked at Nakeqor. “Well, you finally woke up Jorah,” Nakeqor said, “I was beginning to fear that someone had assassinated you sometime through the night; I’m glad I was wrong.”

Jorah smiled at Nakeqor, and asked, “Maybe we should break our fast and get moving?” “Sounds like an excellent idea!” Nakeqor answered with joy, “Maybe you want some of the meat I’m cooking over the fire?”

“Did you take my meat while I slept, and started cooking it?!” Jorah began, “You’re nothing more than a common thief,” Jorah finished jokingly; he missed the flash of fear on Nakeqor’s face. “Yeah, I am,” Nakeqor said and glared jokingly at Jorah. “But seriously, it will be done in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Jorah said, standing up and walking out of the tent, “But before we eat, I’ll give the horse an apple; grass must be a very repetitive taste,” Jorah japed. Nakeqor laughed, and said, “Must be… I’ll see to the meat in the meantime.”

Jorah walked over to his horse – Maqhor, it’s a Ghiscari name – and opened the saddlebag; took out an apple, and fed Maqhor; the horse neighed his thanks.

Jorah walked back to the fire – just in time for the meat too – and started talking with Nakeqor about his Greyscale infection – or more like a curse.

“But I thought Greyscale was incurable?” Nakeqor had said with a disbelieving expression, when Jorah told him he had been cured, “The closest thing to curing it that anybody has come, is stopping its progress…”

“I thought so for a long time as well, but I never gave up,” Jorah said with a massive smile, feeling very comfortable with his new companion. “How’d she do it though, I wonder?” “She made this… pastry – I call it, the Weird Goo, though – and put it on my infected arm.”

Nakeqor looked at him skeptically, and asked, “But wouldn’t that just infect her? After all, she touched you, didn’t she?”

Jorah chuckled, “That’s what I thought too. But nothing happened to her at all, and my Greyscale was just gone!” Nakeqor suddenly looked very seriously at him, “That sounds like witchcraft to me…” “But magic can’t cure Greyscale. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be nearly as feared as it is…” Jorah said, taking offense that Nakeqor didn’t think he had thought of that. “That’s true… I wonder why she isn’t more renowned than she is. After all, I’ve never heard of her.”

They sat there and broke their fast, and Nakeqor helped Jorah put his small tent and mat back on the saddle – otherwise, he would be quite ungrateful – and Jorah thanked him for the help.

“Then we’re off to Pentos,” Jorah said, “But, I’ve just got one horse. Maybe you could ride behind me?”

Nakeqor looked surprised, “Here I was, thinking I would have to walk to Pentos. But then you just come along and tell me I can ride with you?”

“Hmm, yeah. We’re going to the same destination, and it’s more pleasant to have company while you travel – and you won’t have to worry about Greyscale either,” Jorah said chuckling. “I’ll gladly travel with you,” Nakeqor said – also chuckling lightly – and walked over to Jorah; jumped up on the back-end of the saddle. And then, they were off.

 

* * *

5 hours later

* * *

 

 “You know, I’ve heard that there are bandits in these mountains,” Nakeqor told Jorah, “And they’re supposed to be real nasty stuff.” Jorah guffawed, “Yeah, most bandits are.”

“That is very true my friend,” Nakeqor said, then it was quiet for a while.

“If you do not mind me asking – why are you traveling to Westeros?” Nakeqor asked raising his right eyebrow; Jorah was quiet for a while before he answered, “I’m not traveling to Westeros.”

“What?” Nakeqor began questioningly, “But you told me that you would find a boat to Westeros in Pentos – hence why you were traveling there.”

“That was because I did not trust you then, you see. I had recently been tricked and attacked, which made think that maybe you were a part of this group.” Jorah said with a regretful face as he turned his head to look at Nakeqor.

“Wow,” He said, “Where are you traveling then, and why?”

“I’m traveling to Meereen to get back to Daenerys, you see, she was the one who told me to cure my Greyscale,” Jorah said, revealing his plan to Nakeqor. “Hah, seems like it’s always about a girl nowadays,” Nakeqor said, “Although from what I’ve heard, this one's seems pretty special – are you two close?”

Jorah looked at him with a sorrowful face, “We were, but then everything changed – now I’m just happy to be called her Knight.” Nakeqor looked at him with a sympathetic smile, “That is tough, how close were you – before that, I mean?”

“I was her closest friend,” Jorah answered, his face showing even more sorrow.

Nakeqor started saying something when suddenly he closed his mouth and looked up with a look of fear.

On the edge of the cliff above them, there were men with bows, aimed straight at Jorah and Nakeqor.

They were clad in leather armor, cloaks, and big hoods; all in gray, camouflaging them in the mountains. “Whom is it that travels on this perilous path?” The middle one asked with a raspy voice, entirely devoid of emotion.

“Just normal travelers on their way to Pentos,” Nakeqor said – although he had a hint of fear in his voice. “You don’t seem like normal travelers to me. The one in front of you looks to me like a Knight,” Another one of the men said.

“Thank you for the kind words. However, I’m not a knight, I’m just a sell-sword,” Jorah said with a very persuasive voice. “Really, and who has hired you?” Said one of the men furthest away from them. “This man behind me, of course; why else would he be allowed to travel with me?”

“Looks too poor to be able to hire anybody,” The middle man said. “I saved up for a long time, so this man would escort me to Pentos,” Nakeqor said a lot more confidently this time. “Wow, really then, good thing he’s here then,” The middle man began, “’cause I think we will steal all your shit.”

Jorah saw this coming, and had hurried on Maqhor, thus they galloped towards one of the big slate stones in front of them; they got there just in time to avoid the first volley of arrows fired at them, then they continued galloping at full speed, Maqhor seeming to understand the situation and ran faster than usual. The men on the ledge running after them.

“You don’t think your horse could run a little bit faster, do you?” Nakeqor said with clear panic in his voice. “He probably could – that is if two people weren’t riding on him at the same time,” Jorah answered, “Unless you want me to throw you off that is.” Nakeqor looked at him with worry, “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

“Of course not,” Jorah said unconvincingly – contemplating the idea in his head. “Thank the Gods…” Nakeqor said and let out a massive sigh. He looked calm for a second – then an arrow zoomed by his face, and he started panicking again.

They full on galloped until they got to a blockade that the bandits had set up in the small mountain pass they were riding through; they had to figure something out, and fast. The blockade was made out of big rocks they had rolled down into the pass, and archers on both sides of said pass.

“Well, Jorah, it was good meeting you. But I think this is where our journey ends,” Nakeqor said with a mixture of fear and joy – probably due to the panic going to his head, Jorah thought.

When they galloped right for the blockade, and the archers made themselves ready to fire a volley of arrows; Nakeqor said something that Jorah could’ve kissed him for, “There’s a pass in the mountain to the left, big enough for the horse and us!” He had said pointing at the pass he had seen in his despair, it was in the mountain wall that was curved in a way so that the bandits couldn’t possibly have seen it.

Jorah steered Maqhor towards the pass, the horse being reluctant at first, till he saw the small pass, and started to speed up; they got inside just in time to avoid the arrows swooshing past them.

“Thank gods,” Jorah said as Maqhor still ran at full speed away from the danger. Jorah had missed that one of the arrows had grazed Nakeqor’s shoulder; blood slowly trickling down to his fingers. That was ‘til the point where Nakeqor’s shock wore off, and he moaned loudly in pain – clutching his bleeding shoulder.

“Jorah, hrrrg, you don’t happen to be able to slow your horse down a bit so I can bandage my shoulder without falling off?” Nakeqor asked, grunting in pain. Jorah slowed Maqhor down to a slow pace; Nakeqor ripped off a piece of his clothes, and slowly bandaged his shoulder.

“Can you do it a little bit faster? They could be right behind us!” Jorah said to him with a harsh voice.

“I will, I will! But it’s hard to bandage something with just one arm you know!” Nakeqor answered as he finished bandaging his arm. “Okay, I’m done.” Jorah hurried Maqhor up to a quick canter down the path.

A few minutes later, they still saw no end of the tunnel, “Jorah, do you think we’re going to die in here?” Nakeqor whined – for the 20th time thus far. “No more now than the last nineteen times you asked,” Jorah growled in response. Nakeqor could be really pleasant company – sometimes – but when you were running from danger, he was certainly not.

An additional ten minutes later, Jorah saw the light from the end of the tunnel. “Nakeqor, I see the end of the tunnel,” Jorah told Nakeqor who had started sleeping on his shoulder. “YEEEEES, WE’LL LIVE!” He yelled out – he had clearly been thinking they were going to die in this cave…

Maqhor abruptly broke into a full-on gallop out of the cave, neighing the whole way happily.

“C’mon Maqhor, faster!” Nakeqor told the horse, he was just as happy as the horse about leaving the cave. “I have to agree with you on that point,” Jorah said.

The cave ended just before a hill, and when they reached the top of said hill, they saw Pentos in the distance.

“Nakeqor, Pentos is right there!” Jorah said, happy that their goal was just within reach; then everything went black…


	2. The Dragon and The Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place several months before chapter 1, just so you don’t get confused in later chapters.

Daenerys was standing at the front end of her flagship, watching the dragons play. Rhaegal flying around Drogon – he did some spins as well, of course – while at same time getting chased by Viserion. The times when Viserion actually caught up to him, he would slightly nip at the end of Rhaegal’s tail. And Rhaegal would speed up – not before hitting Viserion on the nose with his tail first though…

“Ah, I see you’re watching your dragons play this lovely afternoon,” Tyrion said, whistling as he came up beside her. “Yes, it calms me,” Daenerys said with a distant expression.

“Well, I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Grace. But we saw it fitting to have a meeting discussing a matter of strategy,” Tyrion said while turning to her, “and it would be very fitting of the Queen to show up at this meeting.”

Daenerys was quiet for a few seconds, “You decided to hold a meeting, without asking me first?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Is that not allowed?”

Daenerys looked at Tyrion with an unreadable expression, “I guess I can allow it, this time – but next time you ask for my permission first…” Daenerys said in the end, her voice full of annoyance. “Yes, Your Grace,” Tyrion said as he walked away.

Daenerys watched the dragons play for a while more – to calm her nerves – and when the dragons flew higher and higher, and further away, and one could barely see them in the distance, she turned around and walked across the ship to the poop deck (Why the fuck is it called that?), where they would hold their meeting.

When she turned up at the poop deck, the others were gathered around a table with a map of Westeros on it; Daenerys took her place, glanced at the others with an authoritative look, and said, “So, what are the concerns that call forth this meeting?”

“The concerns, are that we have no idea where to land this massive fleet,” Tyrion said as he looked at the map with a pondering look on his face. “Can’t we just land the fleet at Dragonstone? And plan the rest of the conquest of Westeros there?” Daenerys asked Tyrion.

“No, we can’t. The fleet is too big to ever be able to land at Dragonstone,” Tyrion answered, pointing at the map, as to prove his point.

Daenerys looked at Missandei and Grey Worm, and asked, “Do any of you have anything to come up with as a solution to this issue?” Missandei and Grey Worm stood there quiet for a while, then Missandei answered, “We’ve never been to Westeros before, My Queen; we can’t really give any input on the matter.”

“Me neither,” Daenerys began as she shifted her gaze back to Tyrion, “That means you have to figure it out, and if you do… I’ll be in my cabin.”

Daenerys turned around, “Missandei, will you follow me down to my cabin, to give your Queen company?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Missandei answered as she walked up beside her. Then both proceeded down deck, and into her cabin.

“Missandei, can you be take these insects out of my hair? For some reason, these sea insects seem to love it…” Daenerys said, “Yes, My Queen,” Missandei said as she took out a chair that Daenerys could sit on as she fixed her hair.

Missandei began to take out insects – as well other things Daenerys didn’t want in her hair, while at the same time fixing it into the hairstyle Daenerys wanted – in complete silence. “My Queen, I noticed that Ser Jorah didn’t return when you and Daario did, even though he set out with Daario to find you,” Missandei said after a while, curious.

Daenerys was quiet, “Did you banish him again?” Missandei asked, “Or did he die? Or leave?” At this point, Daenerys felt a strange sadness in her chest, although she did not know why.

She then said with a slightly tremulous voice, “No, I did not banish him. He didn’t leave either. Or die for that matter.”

“What happened then, Your Grace?” Missandei asked, even more inquisitive than before.

“I sent him away,” Daenerys began, her voice growing more confident again, “but not to banish him, but to cure his,” Her voice became tremulous again, “illness…”

Missandei stopped fixing her hair for a moment, she might as well have been frozen in place for a few seconds, “What is this illness you speak of?” She asked in the end.

Daenerys seemed to slightly quiver for a second, then straightened out her posture, “He has been smitten by Greyscale, while he was banished.”

Missandei gasped, “Greyscale? But there’s no known cure for it.” Daenerys nodded, and said with a slightly quivering voice, “I know…”

And that was the end for that conversation – actually for all the conversations for a while to come, since from that point it was completely silent between them…

When Missandei was done with fixing Daenerys’ hair, there was a knock on the door.

“My Queen, I seem to have figured out a way to do this in a very strategic way,” Said a voice that clearly belonged to Tyrion. “Go and get Grey Worm then, I want everybody to hear what you have to say,” Daenerys answered. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Daenerys stood up, Missandei put the chair back into its rightful place, and then both walked back out of the cabin, and back up to the poop deck.

They had to wait for a minute before Tyrion and Grey Worm showed up, “So, what is this magnificent plan of yours?” Daenerys asked Tyrion.

“The plan is that we split this massive fleet up into, well, different fleets,” Tyrion said.

“And weaken our strength?” Daenerys asked. “No, we will take one part of the fleet to Dragonstone, which, as you know, is located to the east of Westeros, then the other part of the fleet will sail to the western border of Westeros, to carry out any attacks there. This would mean that the enemy has to focus on 2 different fronts at the same time,” Tyrion said breathlessly, “And while you seize Dragonstone, the other fleet could capture Casterly Rock.”

Daenerys looked at Tyrion, and smiled, “I approve of this plan,” She said, then asked, “Grey Worm, you’re the commander of the Unsullied. What do you make of this plan?” Grey Worm seemed to ponder the plan for a few seconds, then said, “I approve, My Queen.”

Daenerys looked at her advisors and said, “This means we have a plan for the coming conquest of Westeros. There are, however, some positions that need to be filled.”

“What positions?” Missandei asked. “Who it is that will lead the second fleet,” Tyrion answered.

“Tyrion is correct,” Daenerys said, then looked at Grey Worm, “Grey Worm will lead the second fleet.” Daenerys noticed that a spark of sadness appeared on Missandei’s face, before quickly regain her normal serious expression.

“Missandei,” Daenerys said, Missandei shifting her eyes from the map on the tablet, to her Queen’s face, “Yes, Your Grace?” Daenerys smiled lightly, “You will accompany Grey Worm, for translation purposes, as well as for company.”

Missandei’s posture immediately signaled happiness – although not very noticeably – and then she said, “Yes, My Queen. I would be delighted to.”

Daenerys nodded slightly, and then said, “Dismissed.” The others bowed, and then walked down deck, presumably, towards their cabins – or in Tyrion’s case, towards the wine!

Daenerys herself stood watching the dragons, which had started to grow bigger in the distance, starting to cover the dark clouds behind them.

The conversation she’d had with Missandei previously made her wonder, was it really right of her to command Jorah to cure his Greyscale, after all, if he didn’t succeed he would probably die thinking that he had failed his Queen – or in his case, failed his _Khaleesi_.

Had she taken Jorah with her, it could have led to an epidemic among her troops, and advisors. Could it have affected her? Even though she has the Blood of the Dragon flowing through her veins, presumably making her immune to diseases – Greyscale is more like a curse than a sickness after all.

But if she had taken him with her, maybe she could have helped him to the Citadel – the Citadel being the best in all things knowledge, really.

The cure for Greyscale was still unknown, however, and if the Citadel knew of it, then it wouldn’t be unknown, right?

Daenerys shook her head, trying to free it from all these thoughts. _Maybe I could return to Essos and get him… No. You’ve made your choice Daenerys, now you have to live with it,_ Daenerys thought, solemnly; her head filled with what ifs.

She sighed.

It were moments like these she wished she could be like Tyrion – drunk pretty much all the time, although that wouldn’t make much of a responsible Queen, would it?

Daenerys thought about it for a few minutes, _One night of drunkenness wouldn’t be that irresponsible, after all, it might even help to clear my mind._

She proceeded down deck, asked one of the Unsullied – actually, it was more like demanded to know where Tyrion went. “Down to his cabin,” He’d answered, emotionlessly.

She went down deck, and knocked on Tyrion’s door. “Who is it?” She heard, “Your Queen, open the door.”

Before she could blink, the door was open.

“Your Grace, what has brought you here, to my humble cabin and me?” Tyrion asked, smiling at her.

“I wanted some company – and you were the best person whom would give me that, as well as suit my needs,” She answered him and walked in, Tyrion behind her, closing the door.

“My Queen, I don’t think it wise to engage in such… activities, with your Hand,” Tyrion answered, slightly chuckling. Daenerys was not amused by his joke, “I meant your... fondness of wine.”

Tyrion laughed and nodded at her as he walked past, “Yes, that is definitely my area of expertise.”

Daenerys looked at him as he took out a crate of wine bottles from under his bed.

“Dornish Red, my last few bottles,” Tyrion said, handing her a full bottle of wine, “I believe that will satisfy your needs.”

Daenerys turned the bottle around in her hand, “Do you have any goblets nearby?”

Tyrion laughed.

“Goblets? That’s for when you need to be well mannered, down here in my cabin, you just drink straight from the bottle,” Tyrion said, popping his bottle open and taking a sip.

Daenerys was slightly hesitant, every fiber of her screaming at her that this was not how Queen was fit to act; it’s only Tyrion though, she thought, and then popped the bottle open.

When she had drunk half her bottle – and Tyrion, one and a half – Tyrion asked, “What brings you down here to drink anyhow?”

Tyrion could probably see her tense up a bit, “Too many thoughts at once,” She answered after a few seconds.

Tyrion nodded his head slowly – tipsily even – then asked, “What kind of thoughts?”

Daenerys looked at him with a stern expression that read, “None of your fucking business.”

Tyrion shook his head, “Forget I asked.”

Then both of them just sat there, more or less just sulking in silence, then after Daenerys had drunk her second bottle – Tyrion his third – she said, “You wondered what I have been thinking about,” She turned to him, and he gave her his full attention – which was not a lot, “I’ve been thinking about choices I’ve made, if they were right or wrong, and what would’ve happened if I made a different choice.”

Tyrion looked at her, “We all do sometimes, but then we move on.”

Daenerys said no more. She just drunk wine, then walked out, and back to her cabin.

 

* * *

****The Summer Sea** **

* * *

 

Daenerys woke up to the light shining on her face through one of the cabin windows, the curtains somehow seemed to have moved since last night, but Daenerys didn’t mind, probably just a servant that had dragged it to the side – probably the same one who of which had placed a tray of food and wine on the table.

But that was not the only reason she didn’t mind, however, it was also contributed to by the fact that her sleep had been plagued by nightmares recently, and so, for the time being, Daenerys completely detested sleep – with a passion.

She stretched her legs and arms, then rose from the bed, walked over to the wardrobe, took out her black – and her most concealing – dress (the one from season 7, if you couldn’t guess), and put it on. Then she walked over to the tray with the food and wine, it was just a buttered bread, with a thin slice of cheese, a soft-boiled egg, as well as some delicious, crispy bacon. (PS, I have no idea what they eat for breakfast, but this was mentioned in the show… So, let’s roll with it.)

She just stood there for a second, contemplating if she would eat it here alone, or invite someone to her cabin for company – preferably Tyrion or Missandei, of course. Grey Worm and the other Unsullied are not really… communal.

In the end, she decided to invite Tyrion to her cabin, after all she had left quite suddenly the day before – although she would not apologize for it, a Queen does not apologize for her actions.

Thus, she walked over to the door, opened it, then told the nearest Unsullied, “ _Maghagon nyke se mība vala._ ”

Then she closed the door, and walked back to the table to wait for her company.

She had to wait for what seemed like an hour for Tyrion to show up – even though it was more like ten minutes…

Tyrion knocked on the door, “Your Grace. You requested my presence?” Daenerys answered with a loud and authoritative voice, “Yes. Come in.”

Tyrion opened the door, and walked to sit in the on the opposite side of the table, “So, what matter is it that requires my expertise?”

“Who said anything about needing your expertise? I just wanted you here to keep me company while I break my fast, and at the same time you could tell me more about this country we will soon arrive in,” Daenerys answered as she picked up a piece of bacon.

Tyrion laughed, “The company I gave you last night wasn’t enough? You left so suddenly, I thought you were trying to escape me…” Daenerys smiled and answered, “Well, you are an expert at drinking and talking, whereas both can be quite hard to endure sometimes.”

Tyrion looked at her with another smile, “Well, good to know that My Queen can note my expertise in these particular areas.”

Daenerys chuckled slightly, then kept eating, “Nevertheless, you wanted to know more about Westeros, what would you want to know?”

To answer this, she just looked at him, then said, “Do you think Dragonstone will be heavily defended?”

Tyrion slightly raised his right eyebrow, “I don’t think it will be heavily defended, in fact, I don’t think it will be defended at all.”

At this Daenerys furrowed her brows, “Why wouldn’t Dragonstone be defended?”

“Because there’s no reason for it.”

“And why not?”

“Well, Stannis Baratheon has most likely left it at this point, and Cersei and Jaime, probably don’t care enough about it to realize what a strategic position it is.”

At this Daenerys should’ve been grateful, the fact that they could just walk in and capture a very valuable strategic position without having to risk any men at all, should be a godsend; but strangely she just felt rage.

The house seat of the Targaryens, thrown out like it was nothing, did they not see what a sacred site it was? It was most likely just abandoned like any old ruin. Her ancestors seat of power, forgotten.

What gave them the right to do so? They should treat it like a monument from a great age, because that’s exactly what it was! It was greater than Casterly Rock could ever be. With the histories of House Targaryen, echoing through its empty halls.

Tyrion had seemed to notice that the fire in her had grown, “My Queen, what is it that troubles you?”

Daenerys snarled and stood up, “The fact that **your family** have the stomach to forsake such a sacred site, a monument to House Targaryen is what it is; they should worship the ground it was built on!”

Tyrion jerked backwards at the sound of her voice, and a hurt expression flashed on his face when she said his family, but Daenerys didn’t care.

In return he snorted and said, “Don’t talk about them like I belong to that family still, ‘cause I do not.”

Daenerys turned to him, her eyes filled with rage, “Do not talk back to your Queen.”

At this Tyrion just huffed, “Of course, My Queen,” his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Daenerys’ glare just rose in intensity at the sarcastic use of her title, Tyrion, however, wasn’t done yet, “I thought I was invited to elaborate on the situation in Westeros, not to argue like children.”

“And now you have the stomach to call me a child?”

“No, I called both of us children.”

Daenerys just rolled her eyes, “Same thing,” then she let out a deep breath, “but nonetheless, you are correct, this is not a manner fitting of a Queen. I guess I’m just have a lot on my mind.”

Tyrion looked seriously at her, “Now then, I have just one question… Can I have some of that wine?”

Daenerys shook her head and a smile started to spread on her face, “Okay, but don’t drink it all, it’s mine after all.”

At this Tyrion just laughed and said, “You know very well that I can’t promise that,” At which Daenerys answered, “Just drink the damn wine.”

_‘On a second thought, maybe I should’ve invited Missandei instead…’_ Daenerys mused, while at the same time letting out a big sigh.

Tyrion saw this and asked, “What are you thinking about now, Your Grace?”

“Nothing of importance.”

“Are you sure?”

Daenerys shook her head, once again becoming agitated, “Yes, I’m sure. And do not ask me about it again, because if I wanted you to know, then I would tell you.”

Tyrion snorted, “Of course,” then he saw the look on Daenerys face and quickly said, “My Queen.”

Then there was silence, Daenerys eating, and Tyrion drinking – somewhat timidly.

After a while, Tyrion looked at Daenerys with an expression that reminded of that of melancholy, “Your Grace, maybe you should’ve invited Missandei instead if you wanted company. I’m after all not the best at that sort of thing as you can see,” Daenerys actually smiled at this, “You know, you’re not all that bad company,” Tyrion looked doubtfully at her for a second, “Today is not the best example.”

Tyrion laughed at that, “You could definitely say that, mostly we have been quiet, and if we weren’t, we yelled at each other…”

Daenerys snickered, “That about describes us, after all, you’re the one who insist on arguing with me on every point.”

Tyrion grinned, “That’s one of my three callings, drinking, knowing things, and arguing with you pointlessly,” Daenerys grinned back, “Of course it’s pointless, I’m not one to usually change my mind.”

Tyrion shook his head, “Yes, but maybe you should start doing so, maybe then you wouldn’t make such hasty decisions – some of which seems to haunt you to this day.

Daenerys grin immediately disappeared, that struck her hard. After all, she knew that was one of her weak spots, her fierce temper – but at the same time it was one of her strengths.

In the end, Daenerys decided to retaliate with, “It’s their fault that they awoke The Dragon, not mine,” although she didn’t say it with much conviction.

Tyrion nodded hesitantly, “Yes, of course, Your Grace,” then nervously sipped more wine.

Then there was silence again, until an Unsullied knocked on the door.

“ _Ñuha dāria, tegun ēza issare ūndegīon_ ,” the Unsullied said stiffly.

“ _Skoros tegun?_ ” Daenerys answered questioningly.

“ _Īlon pendagon ziry iksos, dorne._ ”

Daenerys looked at Tyrion, “They say they’ve spotted the coast of Dorne, how much further?”

“Well, that depends on a lot of things, My Queen, many things can happen on a journey such as this,” Tyrion answered niftily, while standing up to walk out the door, “But you should walk out and see it yourself, it will soon be out of sight again…” Then he walked out, not even bothering to close the cabin door behind him.

This would be the first time Daenerys saw Westeros – her home – with her own two eyes.

Thus, Daenerys followed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Maghagon nyke se mība vala - Bring me the short man. (Roughly)
> 
> Ñuha dāria, tegun ēza issare ūndegīon - My Queen, land has been seen. (Also roughly)
> 
> Skoros tegun - What land?
> 
> Īlon pendagon ziry iksos, Dorne - We think it's, Dorne
> 
> Actual note:  
> So, next chapter we’ll see Jorah again!  
> PS. Sorry for the long wait...


End file.
